


How It All Falls Apart

by Leoninemeanslion



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pokemon Mystery Dungeon
Genre: ABDL, Angst, Anorexia, Bedtime Stories, Blood and Injury, Child Neglect, Crying, Depression, Diapers, Eating Disorders, Hugs, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Infantilism, Mommy Issues, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:15:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27011866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leoninemeanslion/pseuds/Leoninemeanslion
Summary: He should've known better than to lie and say he was okay. He knew this would happen eventually, that someone would see what was wrong. He just didn't think he'd be alive to see it.
Kudos: 6





	How It All Falls Apart

Every time Vyvix looked into the mirror, he felt his sins blister under his skin.

The luxray barely noticed, anymore. Most of his mirrors were shattered, anyway. He studied his face - _ugly, misshapen,_ \- in the dim reflection, wondering what it was that had brought him to stand in front of the mirror in the first place. His reflection offered no answers. He wasn't sure he wanted them.

He couldn't say how much time had passed before he'd had enough, turning from the mirror above the sink - _bags under your eyes, you look like a freak_ \- towards the toilet. Right. He'd needed to use the restroom. He wasn't sure what the point was, he barely had anything enter his system - _starving, and somehow you're still fat_ \- since yesterday. But now he just… couldn't. That deep, seeping numbness filled his body, rooting him to the floor even as a yellow puddle - _you can't even use the bathroom right_ \- formed beneath him.

The sun was bright, and the puddle was cold. Morning. He probably hadn't slept, but that wasn't much of a difference.

Food, - _you fucking pig_ \- he needed food. His stomach felt tight, and he reconsidered. Still, he needed groceries - _no you don't, you just throw it all out you selfish fuck_ \- for the week.

It was close to noon that he finally got to his feet, - _the floor is sticky and you smell like piss_ \- making his way to the door. He stumbled on the last stair, landing awkwardly as his paw was bent the wrong way. He felt - _do it again_ \- a twinge of pain - _do it again_ \- as he - _do it again_ \- righted himself, continuing - _for the love of God please let me feel something_ \- to the front door.

Outside, he didn't fare much better. No one so much as glanced his way - _look at me_ \- on the crowded pathway, more focused - _help me_ \- on their own tasks, and destinations.

He didn't remember going inside the store, or paying. All he remembered was exiting with a bag of food that doubled it's weight in guilt. He didn't remember the trip home, the disgusted looks - _you just don't want to remember. You can't keep doing this_ \- at his matted fur, and the stale stench of piss still clinging to his skin. - _you're a freak, and they see it too_ -

He didn't remember the storybook that he found in his bag. He didn't remember the shinx on the cover, or how it was obviously something meant for toddlers.

He remembered the feeling of need, cutting through the blanket of white noise filling his body, and that was enough.

It didn't last. A glass bottle, long drained of whatever - _you know what's in there. You know what you did_ \- had been housed in it, broke under his paw. The glass cut into his soft pad, stinging as it broke the surface of the numb feeling that had settled in his bones.

He pressed down harder.

-

He found himself in front of the mirror again. He wasn't sure he cared anymore.

His paw was bleeding, the red liquid mingling with the urine stain from the previous night. He hated how much pleasure he got from the aching sting that standing in the dried puddle was causing. Maybe it was because it kept some of the numbness away.

Maybe it was because he was just glad to feel something.

-

He hesitated to touch the storybook. He was, somehow, afraid to get blood on it. He assumed some part of him was supposed to be happy about this.

-

He didn't remember going to bed. He was surprised he'd actually made it. He was surprised the book came with him.

He couldn't cry, even though he knew he needed to. If he cried, he'd never get back up, he'd never feel. He'd just be white noise.

A walking ghost.

And he couldn't fall apart yet.

-

"Welcome to the Guild Services! How can I help you?"

The lycanroc scratched the back of his head, obviously asking himself the same question, "Uhm, I'd like to lodge a- Well, a concern, I guess, about a resident?"


End file.
